


You Make Me Wanna Shout

by 1Ced0Alteram1



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Ced0Alteram1/pseuds/1Ced0Alteram1
Summary: Butch plays with his tunnel snake while feeling a certain kinda way about Nosebleed.
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

He’s been itching for a drink all week, and finally taking a big swig of whiskey made his whole body relax. Talk about pure heaven, baby. Being dry all week had really taken a toll on him, but the Overseer wouldn't hand the sauce over until Butch had a little “chat” with one of asshole engineers who’d been saying negative things about the Vault's leadership. Butch had to wait until the engineer was alone or “it would arouse suspicion” as the Overseer said – it took a whole week of Butch stalking him until the lousy bastard was alone while doing a routine check on the maintenance tunnels. Now it was payday and, boy, how sweet it was.

A whole case of bourbon whiskey. Straight from the Vault supply warehouse and only the Overseer had the keys to that goldmine. Butch looked lovingly at the case of whiskey, condensation still dripping on the bottles.

All he needed now were some drinking buddies . . . but Paul was working, and Wally was practicing at the shooting range with the rest of the guards. Since taking the G.O.A.T and finishing school, the Tunnel Snakes hadn’t been hanging out as much. Different jobs. Work. Bullshit.

Butch puckered up his lips and made kissy noises at the bottle in his hand, “Well, I guess that means I’ll have you all to myself. Come to papa. . .”

He was home alone – Mom had uncharacteristically gone to work today— and his next appointment at the barber shop didn’t start until at least five hours from now. He had time to kill.

The drink was starting to make him feel real good, the air smelled better, the world seemed a little happier, and he was getting real horny. He was a happy, horny drunk. He thought about trying to find Christine Kendall, but they’d had a pretty bad break-up last spring because he’d called her fat. She wasn’t going to let him bury his face in her amazing tits anytime soon, which was a crying shame. . .

Make do and mend, baby. He had no problem with doing the job himself.

Unzipping his Vault suit and tossing his jacket onto the bed, Butch sat down onto his bed and eased onto a comfortable position. He thought of Christine Kendall’s wonderful bouncing tits and the stupid, sexy way she moaned when he sucked on her nipples. He thought of her red lipstick getting all over him when they made out in the storage closet, and the way her hands slipped into his Vault suit and stoked his cock . . .

He thought about all the girls he knew in the Vault . . . Susie Mack with her shiny blonde hair tied up in a ponytail that he’d always wanted to pull while fucking her . . . Amata’s bitchy pout and nice curves and cute ass that jiggled a little when she walked down the halls, and he wondered what it would be like if they ever had hate-sex. Hell, it would be worth it just to see the Overseer’s face if Butch could honestly say, “Get bent, old man, I fucked your daughter!”

Then, out of the clear blue, he thought of the Doc’s Kid pushing him to the ground and straddling him, then punching him in the face and pulling his hair until he cried in pain.

His eyes opened wide in shock.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

He swallowed and blinked. Frowning, he closed his eyes again and stroked his cock gently, almost cautiously . . . and he tried to think of anyone but Nosebleed, dorky Poindexter, the prissy rug-munching nerd. What got into him? She was more butch than he was. Ha ha ha. . .  
  
Butch tried to concentrate on someone—anyone— else, but he kept imagining Nosebleed pinning him down, and the two of them clawing and hitting each other like they often did when they pissed each other off enough.  
  
 _Fine, Nosebleed, you want some of this, then you’re gonna get it._  
  
He imagined rolling her over and violently unzipping her Vault suit, pushing his hand into the warmth between her legs and stroking her clit. She could pack a hell of a punch, and it would seem unrealistic if she didn’t at least slug him one in this type of situation. He imagined the sting of her hand striking his face and it felt . . .  
  
Oh god. It felt good.  
  
His hips were practically bucking at this point as he desperately stroked himself. The thought of Nosebleed moving her hips against his cock, fighting and fucking at the same time, the feeling of her breasts jiggling against his chest as he pushed into her, and her nails viciously digging into his back . . . He swore under his breath and moaned. Frustrated, he bit down on his lip, harder than he meant, and he felt a warm trickle of coppery blood fill his mouth.  
  
 _Suck my dick, Nosebleed._  
  
 _No thanks, Butch, I have a shrimp allergy._  
  
He almost laughed at the thought but at the same time it annoyed him that, even in his own head, she was an irritating smart-mouth. She couldn’t even zip it in his fantasy, for fuck’s sake. He gripped his cock tighter and felt himself tensing, as he imagined pinning her down again and pounding her real hard for saying that. She’d bite the crook of his neck and rock her hips until it became unbearable and – and –  
  
After he came, he sat silently for awhile in confused and guiltily satisfied stupor . . . catching his breath, trying to wrap his head around the fact he . . . he just masturbated while thinking about _Nosebleed_.  
  
He’d find it hilarious if it wasn’t pissing him off so much. He wondered if she ever thought about him like that. Probably not. God, he hoped not. They'd hated each others’ guts since before he could even remember. One of his first memories was spitting a big loogie into her hair when they were in playschool. They were always pushing each other’s buttons, either he was calling her a dyke or she was calling his mom a drunken whore (I mean, his mom had problems but she wasn’t no whore), and it just was so goddamn weird.  
  
Butch needed a shower. He felt unclean. He felt like he’d never fucking forgive himself, not in a million years. He slowly dressed himself and shuffled, zombie-like, towards the Male Dorm’s showers.  
  
Halfway there, he collided with Nosebleed herself in the hallway. Of course. Of course he’d bump into her after that. _Of course_.  
  
He stared at her blankly for one millisecond, and then instinctively gave her the finger.  
  
“Watch where you’re going, airhead!” She spat at him, looking absolutely furious.  
  
“Watch where _you’re_ going, square!” He hissed back.  
  
They then went their separate ways, but Butch cast an eyeball back at her and checked out her ass. It was an okay ass, he guessed. Not really the best ass, but okay. He realized he didn’t stop looking at her until she turned the corner.  
  
He needed a fucking shower. Stat.

**Author's Note:**

> (This was written many moons ago by yours truly for the falloutkinkmeme. BTW the title of this is fic from from a badass 1959 Isley Brothers song, check it out.)


End file.
